A Choreographed Routine
by OliverScye
Summary: The battles of Tulsa have always been physical, but what about the battles someone rages against themself? post-book and AU.


_disclaim: All characters herein are fictional. The ones you recognize belong to Hinton and their other respective owners; the ones you do not recognize I claim as mine.  
a/n: let's try this again, shall we?_

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Not all cases ended the way this one had. Hall Morrow couldn't say he was particularly surprised with the outcome; Hall had intended for the case to go in their favour, and it had. Nevertheless, Hall felt as if he had massacred one of the heaviest rules amongst Oklahoma's entire justice department. It was lousy people like him that had brought that damn rule into play, and whoever had thought of it was a bloody genius. Maybe Hall hadn't massacred anything, though, since his major occupation was really just a small branch off of the bigger, broken picture.

_Rules were made to be broken, _Hall thought to himself, casually kicking his loafer-clad feet up on his large, oaker desk.

Being both a PI and a lawyer - even if most of his clients were charity cases - was an active part of the over all canvas, though. Hall could lie to himself all he wanted, but the fact remained: he was a dirty cheater. However, the man did it with good intentions; the intentions of winning and getting his clients out of spending the rest of their pathetic lives in the slammer. Morrow didn't know why he did it - maybe because so many of the kids he represented in the courts were exactly as he was when he was their age; young, restless, and on top of the fucking world.

Hall peered through his large, dirty office window and sighed as a warm breeze drifted in through his window. It was a hot day, the type that had your shirt sticking to your back with even the utmost minimal level of physical exertion. Branches swayed rhythmically in the shallow wind, their leaves breaking away and fluttering into his office. Out past the Ribbon, the sun reflected and glistened off of the Arkansas River. From his rundown little office, Hall had a great view of the South side, and all it's ritzy houses with their close-cut lawns.

It made Hall sick to think that all those lazy, rich bastards were practically bathing in the money they sucked from their parents' investments and up-tight little financial groups they belonged to. He used to be jealous, and sometimes he felt himself losing that edge he'd worked hard to maintain, but money never bought anyones happiness, and Hall Morrow was perfectly happy being a dirty cheater.

"Old habbits die hard, Hall," someone said, looming in the doorframe of his office. It was his receptionist, Resa. Hall lolled his head to one side and watched her smooth out a ghastly green coloured blazir and matching, knee-length skirt.

"Very observant, Resa," Hall replied with thick sarcasm. He tapped his fingers on the over-stuffed file folder that sat readily on his desk and waited patiently as Resa shoved a fuming, white-haired boy into the room.

"Fuck, you," he growled, tearing his arm away from her. "Dumb bitch, I told'ja to tell him I wasn't comin' in today!"

"It defeats the purpose when you deliver the message personally, Dally." Resa scolded him quickly before retreating dutifully back to her post in the front office.

Hall eyed the seething blond and nodded towards the chair in front of him. He took the hint and sat down, his elfin face tight and drawn into a dangerous look. "Your fuckin' idea of fun, Hall?"

"Like shit, asshole," Hall said lightly. He took his feet down from his desk and cocked an ankle on his knee. His livid, charcoal eyes zeroed in on Dally's brooding face as Hall leaned forward, stooping over the frumpy folder. Hall gave a sick smile that Dally took an odd comfort in. "Ain't you just one happy, fucking, cowboy."

"Guess I should be" - Dally yawned, sticking a Kool in his mouth - "Got off with fucking probation and a bum arm. Oh, don't forget two bullet holes and a whole fucking slew of medical bills I can't even fucking pay for. Dyin' ain't cheap, y'know, Morrow." Dally peered through his cigarette smoke and gave Hall Morrow a tight smile, showing off his white, sharp teeth. He settled back into the over-sized leather chair and kicked his feet up on Hall's desk, a disconcerting look buoyant in his features.

"It's like fuckin' déjà vu with you, kid," Hall groaned, pushing his fingers through his thick, slicked-back hair. "Reckon you never been on probation before. Probation officer, monthly home and office visits, random drugs tests, help with your finances, schooling, employment." Hall raised an eyebrow as Dally's face dropped.

"This your bright idea?" he drawled, rubbing his face. He stubbed out his cigarette on the top of his tennis shoe and shook his head. "No way, I ain't goin' to no fucking school or any of that systematic bullshit, Morrow. I'd rather rot in a goddamn cell for the rest of my fucking life!" He flicked his cigarette butt in the general direction of Hall's garbage can.

Hall wrinkled his brow, the early stages of a headache pulsing behind his forehead. He rubbed his temples and grit his teeth. Hall didn't understand why he kept Dally's ass out of jail this time, the kid was never going to take something that entailed him actually abiding by laws and rules. For his own good - and the sake of Morrow's job - Dally had better take the damn deal. If he didn't, it was jail for the both of them.

"I don't deserve it, anyway." Dally took his feet off of Morrow's desk and leaned forward, his face drawn together in a hard expression.

_If looks could kill, _Morrow thought.

"Don't you, Dally?" Hall challenged impatiently, not in the mood to try and understand the kid's thought pattern. "You saved lives, Dally. You're a fucking hero."

"I didn't do it for those goddamn kids," Dally hissed through grit teeth. "And I didn't save anyone, either. I wish people would quit sayin' I saved those damn kids, 'cause I didn't. One of 'em died, anyway!"

"Does it matter, Dally? You can't save 'em all," Hall told him. "It ain't a good enough reason to spend he rest of your life behind bars." _Or mine, _he added to himself. "You don't stop living just because you lose someone."

"If he was alive . . ." Dally shook his head, leaving the sentence to hang in the air. Dally blinked, staring into Hall's dark eyes.

Hall grimaced, looking away from the kid. Dally could pretend to be as hard and cold as he wanted, but Hall knew he was breaking. He hated himself at that moment, more than he had ever hated anyone or anything. He couldn't stand lying to kid anymore than he could stand to tell him the truth. Hall sighed and shook his head. If "he" was alive, then Dally would take his probation without qualms and neither of them would be spending the next fifteen years to life behind bars. Hall could stay in his office, Dally could stay in his fucking tavern that he was so fond of.

_You're a lying bastard, Morrow, _Hall told himself, deciding that the truth wouldn't fix anything. "Give me two weeks, Dally. Two weeks with no fucking trouble and I'll get you something else," he said flatly as the blond rose from his chair.

"Like hell, asshole," Dally growled, slamming the door shut and leaving Hall with a dark glare.

Resa opened the door a second later and scoweled. "You're some kind of twisted, Morrow," she said, stepping into the office with a steaming mug of coffee. She sipped at it cautiously, keeping her livid green eyes on Hall.

"Remind me to never fix another case again," Hall begged, rubbing his eyes.

Resa nodded, sitting down in the empty leather chair. "And the boy, Hall? You oughta tell him about the boy."

"I oughta, but I ain't gonna." He eyed the steaming mug and made a face. The thought of something so hot scorching down his throat in this weather made him sick. "Old habbits die hard, Resa," he teased.

"I don't have habbits, Hall, I have routine." She picked herself up and set the mug down on the his desk. Resa gave him a weak smile before leaving.

Hall picked up the mug and made another face. After this, he'd quit lying, quit his job, and skip town.

Resa sure made a killer cup of coffee.

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